


Wednesdays

by indigorose50



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cafe AU, First Kiss, M/M, cute little emotional mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigorose50/pseuds/indigorose50
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2013 Summer Mystrade Exchange on tumblr for Ashimae: Lestrade asks for work at the café Mycroft works in. Over time, and without his permission, Mycroft starts to feel... something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesdays

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Sumer Mystrade Exchange on tumblr for Ashimae. The idea was originally given to me by my good friend whenyouwalkwithsh (now frozenjaegers).
> 
> This is my first work on this site so if there are any errors on the page, please let me know. I'm a little nervous. I hope I did everything right!  
> (Edited 1/5/16)

“So you work here, yeah?” Lestrade asked as the waiter placed his coffee on the small café table. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. Lestrade had been coming to this café every Wednesday for the past two months, ordering the same thing every time (coffee [cream only], strawberry frosted donut [sprinkles] and a chocolate croissant to go).

(Not that Mycroft had been paying attention)

And he was now asking stupid questions like this? Honestly, why can’t people just think? It can’t be THAT hard for normal people, can it?

Mycroft shook his head internally then smiled politely down at Lestrade, “I occupy a minor position in this café, yes.” He replied smartly, wording his response in a way that would keep Lestrade’s mind busy working out the answer.

He was just walking away to fetch the other man’s donut when he heard him call “Are they hiring here?” Mycroft stopped and turned back, eyebrow rising again.

“I thought you worked at Scotland Yard. A Detective Inspector or something similar.”

“How did you know that?"

Mycroft could have pointed out that the way Lestrade’s belt was fastened or the angle he always grabbed his coffee mug from or the stubble pattern on his chin made it obvious, but instead he went with “I’ve seen your photo in the paper a few times.”

Lestrade snorted, “Hope you kept clippings. I won’t be in them anymore.” He took a sip of coffee.

“What happened?” Mycroft asked (as if it wasn’t obvious from the loops on his tied shoes), walking back over to stand beside the circular table.

“Not important,” Lestrade said without making eye contact. He set his cup down and stared into it for a while. Mycroft let him.

After a full minute Lestrade picked up his head again, “Think you could get me a job here?” The former DI’s carefree smile seemed a bit forced, tugging a little at heartstrings Mycroft thought he had cut long ago.

“I’ll speak to the manager,” He promised as he left the table again. After politely ordering another server to get Lestrade his donut, Mycroft went into the manager’s office.

Which happened to be his office.

Three days later, Gregory Lestrade showed up for his first day at My Cake’s Café.  
\--

Mycroft was doing paperwork in his office when Lestrade walked in. The graying man emitted a low whistle as he looked around the modest space. “Minor position, eh?” he quoted, “And what does that make my job?” 

As he said this every time he entered the office, Mycroft ignored the question.

“Did you need something, Lestrade?”

“I’ve told you to call me Greg.”

“And I have told you I won’t. What do you need?”

The new waiter awkwardly scratched the back of his head as he looked away from his new boss, “I broke the coffee machine. Again.”

Mycroft couldn’t hold back a groan of frustration. The ex-DI had been out of training for a week and he had already broken the coffee machine three times. To be fair it was the man’s only fault so far: Lestrade was friendly with customers, got along well with the other employees, served most orders right, and was willing to stay until closing every night.

(Mycroft liked this last because it meant he could talk to Lestrade alone as he closed the shop, not that the manager would ever admit it to anyone but himself)

“I’ll fix it then,” Mycroft finally replied, standing up.

Lestrade smiled, looking relieved that Mycroft wasn’t angry. “Thanks,” he said, as Mycroft came around the desk to join him, “I swear, that thing hates me.”

“It’s an inanimate object, Lestrade,” Mycroft explained as they left the office, “It cannot hate.”

“You didn’t hear the way it gurgled at me,” Countered the other man. Mycroft allowed himself to smile at that.

A little while later, Mycroft pronounced the machine fixed. The other employees, as well as a few customers, clapped. Mycroft playfully dipped into an over exaggerated bow, making onlookers laugh.

When he straightened, the first thing Mycroft saw was Lestrade; eyes full of mirth, smile wide, clapping with the others.

(He hadn’t smiled like that since before he asked for a job. He’s getting better. Mycroft made a mental note before he knew what he was doing)

“Thanks,” Lestrade repeated when the café had quieted down.

“No need,” Mycroft said, putting up a hand, “It’s part of the job.”

Lestrade cocked his head, staring at Mycroft, as if an idea had just struck him. “It’s not though, is it?” he pointed out, “You’re the manager. You’re not supposed to be fixing things or waiting tables...”

“I own the café, Lestrade,” defended Mycroft, “I can do as I please.”

“But why pretend to be a waiter?”

Mycroft made a big show of checking his watching before saying, “I must return to work,” He gave Lestrade a pointed look, “And so should you.”

He left Lestrade standing behind the counter, retreating to his small office.  
\--

As nine o’clock neared, most of the café’s employees left for home, exchanging ‘Good night’s and ‘See you tomorrow’s with one another until no one was left but Mycroft and Lestrade. The manager locked his office door behind him and turned to see Lestrade putting up the last chair.

“Ready to leave?” Mycroft asked casually.

“Just about,” the other man replied. Mycroft watched him inspect the glass of the display case and wipe away a near invisible spot.

“Why do you insist on staying here until the last possible minute?” Mycroft finally inquired as the waiter untied his apron and hung in next to the others.

“Why do you pretend to be a waiter?” the gray haired man shot back. It was obvious he was a little annoyed with how their earlier conversation on the subject had ended.

The way Lestrade spoke made it sound like he would answer Mycroft’s question if Mycroft would answer his. If the manager had put more effort into it, he could have simply deduced the answer. But, for some reason, he wanted to hear Lestrade explain himself.

“I suppose,” Mycroft began slowly, “it’s because I feel isolated in my office.”

Lestrade crossed his arms and leaned back against the display case, nodding for Mycroft to go on.

“This is my café but I hardly ever get to really see it. Sitting in the back with my paper work can get tedious and that’s not what owning a café should be like. It’s not how I pictured it.”

“So,” Lestrade said after a short silence, “You get away from your job by doing mine.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, “There is more to it than that but yes, you are basically right.”

Lestrade chuckled, “No, I get it. You feel like you do more when you’re out here helping someone than when you’re filling out paperwork. It can get lonely sitting by yourself.”

Despite how surprised he was that Lestrade had been right on target with his explanation, Mycroft let none of it show on his face. He simply nodded, though he did let a small smile peek through, which made his employee smile as well (which made his heart skip a beat but he quickly shoved that aside for never).

“You’ve some experience then?”

“I was always the one who had to do all the filing and signing of official documents during and after cases in my division. Everyone got to be out investigating while I was shut in my office.” He chuckled again, although this time he sounded more wistful, “Whenever I was let out I would do anything to stall going back.”

“Why do you stay here until closing every night?” Mycroft repeated softly, leading the conversation away from himself and drawing Lestrade back to the present.

Lestrade didn’t say anything at first, just stared off to the side in thought. Then he shrugged, turning back to face Mycroft, “Not used to free time, I suppose. Always something to do at the Yard,” He sighed, looking away again, “Never used to spend much time at my own flat. Even though I’m working here as much as I can, I still have too much time there.” He scowled, “Guess I’m still lonely.”

Mycroft looked at Lestrade- really looked this time. The man seemed lost, naturally. Pulled from a world of constant motion and into... well, Mycroft’s world.

Obviously café worker hadn’t been his first choice for an alternate career. Such an occupation change was bound to have a few bumps in transition, but Lestrade looked a bit better every day from the man who had come in asking for work.

Mycroft cleared his throat, “Just to be clear, I do not mind you staying late.”

Lestrade’s eyes widened, but then he smiled at his boss.

Looking away from the happy man, Mycroft cleared his throat again and turned towards the door, “But now it is time to close."

Lestrade's smile faded slightly at this but he nodded and followed Mycroft out the door, shutting the lights off as he left. Mycroft locked the cafe doors behind them. Here the two would go down opposite ends of the street to their respective homes. Knowing this, Lestrade turned to the man next to him. "See you tomorrow, Boss." He shot his manager a grin before turning to leave.

"Good night, Greg."

It took a seconded for Lestrade to fully understand what he had just heard. By the time he whipped around in shock, Mycroft was walking away, his umbrella tapping against the ground as he went.  
\--

As the weeks went by, the two men grew more comfortable with each other. Not long after that night, Mycroft had given Greg permission to use his first name after hours. Greg was ecstatic.

(Mycroft tried not to let his employee's elation affect him but it was getting harder every time Greg said Mycroft's name. Still harder to ignore was the rush he himself felt when he said Greg's first name.)

Despite how well their lives had been going, this particular morning started off different and finished odd.

Mycroft unlocked the café doors and headed straight for his office, as usual. As the hour went by his employees came in; not many this early. Most of his workers preferred to come in for the lunch rush, rather than waking up at the crack of dawn for a morning shift. A few waved at him as they passed his open door. Some went on to the back to bake while others set up the cafe proper.

The time to turn over the sign in the window to 'Open' was minutes away when Mycroft noticed. He was inspecting the café, trying to figure out what was off about it. The tables were clean, the floor swept, all food in the cases fresh, and still something did not look right to the manager.

He finally turned to one of his waitresses, "Where is Lestrade?"

Athena, who had worked for him the longest, exchanged looks with her two fellow workers- a young man and an older woman. "Haven't seen him since last night, sir." The older woman nodded in agreement.

"We can mind the front with just three, sir, don't worry." The young man said, smiling with confidence.

Mycroft did not doubt that but the fact that Lestrade was late gave him an odd feeling. The man had not been late in the month and a half he had worked there. Mycroft was reluctant to open (the need to know exactly what was happening clouding his judgment for a moment) before shaking his head and putting on a small smile for his workers. "Of course you can. I have no doubt."

He went to the window to flip the sign around before making his way to his office. As he left, the older woman spoke, obviously to her friends but Mycroft caught it anyway; "Maybe the coffee machine will make it through today." The other two laughed not unkindly.

He felt an (irrational) urge to go over to them to defend Greg. Mycroft understood it was a joke, Greg had become friendly with everyone in the café, but he still almost turned on his heel to berate them. He stopped himself and ducked into his office, trying to hide from more provoking statements (that he should not be reacting to anyway).

The day continued as if Lestrade were not absent. Customers came and went, the coffee machine bubbled on, workers finished their shifts, and the register dinged with sales.

Around noon, Mycroft donned his apron to work at the counter. When he came out, he half expected to see Greg by the coffee machine, smiling apologetically as it leaked onto the floor.

But the gray haired man was not there. Worry was starting to creep up Mycroft's spine. Greg should have rung by now with an excuse.

"All right, Boss?" Mycroft blinked and looked around to find Athena staring at him with a raised eyebrow and slight frown.

"What?"

"You were staring at the counter and you looked lost. Are you alright?" She sounded genuinely concerned.

Mycroft nodded, forcing on a reassuring smile. "Thank you, Athena, I'm fine. Just lost in thought is all."

Her next words shocked him, something he thought only Greg had been able to do lately; "Do you want me to check on him, sir? Will that make you feel better?" A slight smirk appeared on the black haired woman's face as her boss's jaw dropped minutely. "Don't worry, sir; it's not too obvious."

The manager closed his mouth and cleared his throat, hoping his cheeks weren't as red as they felt, "What do you mean?" He tried to sound casual but was not sure he succeeded.

Athena rolled her brown eyes, "You know what I mean. You've taken an interest in Lestrade." He opened his mouth to object but she stopped him by putting up her hands defensively, "Call it whatever you like; friendship, a crush, I don’t care. But you can't deny you're worried about him. Hell," she nodded her head at the cafe, "we all are."

As much as Mycroft wanted to rebuke everything she had just said, Athena was right. He leaned against the hallway that connected the back and front if the café, sighing, "Fine, I am a little worried. We haven't heard from him and no one has seen him since last night." He looked at Athena, his oldest friend, for once wanting to depend on someone else, "What should we do?"

If Athena was surprised by this turn of events she didn't show it. Instead she put a hand on her boss's arm and spoke calmly, "We can't do much until the lunch rush is over. After that we can spare someone to go check his flat. Until then, we work. Sound good?"

Mycroft found himself nodding. Yes, working in the cafe would be a welcomed distraction. The line for the counter was already close to the door, they would need all hands on deck.

"Thank you." He said, and he truly meant it. She smiled and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before moving past him to the counter. Mycroft followed, some of his worry ebbing away as he switched into work mode.

For the next two hours, Mycroft fetched lattes, wiped tables, took money, balanced plates, swept the floor, and smiled warmly at everyone. After the first hour he stopped looking up hopefully whenever the bell above the door rang.

When the customers started to thin out, the manager took the time to observe his café. Patrons were smiling around cups of coffee and his employees talked easily with them and each other. It had been a hard shift but Mycroft was happy. This was the kind of thing he had spoken to Greg about; getting out from behind the desk to get your hands dirty and see the people you are serving. Working in such a way always left Mycroft feeling refreshed.

So it was with a genuine smile that he returned to his office. He intended to look up Greg's address to give to Athena, feeling optimistic about the situation for the first time all day. As he pulled up the employee registrar on his computer, he absentmindedly checked his mobile.

His heart (since when had THAT come back?) leapt when he saw a missed call and voice message on the screen.

Then it slid back again when Mycroft saw they were from Saint Bartholomew's Hospital, 40 minutes ago.  
\--

"Good afternoon, this is St. Bart's hospital. It is 1:20pm. We have a man here by the name of Gregory Lestrade who has been in an accident and has this number listed as his area of employment. Please call back at this number or ask for Dr. Wendy Brandon at the front desk for more information.  
\--

Hospitals always give off the feeling that something bad is about to happen. Whether one is sitting in the waiting room or visiting a relative, there is always the anticipation of something going horrible wrong. The scent of over sterilized equipment is not helpful in calming this anticipation. While it should be a comfort to know that IF an emergency occurs, the machines can help, many patients are simply reminded that such emergencies are likely to happen.

This distressing feeling enveloped Mycroft Holmes as he passed through the hospital doors. He had all but run out of the cafe after hearing the message, calling that Athena was in charge until his return. The few minutes it took to hail a cab were the most irritating of Mycroft's life.

Now the café manager forced himself to remain calm as he walked purposely walked toward the front desk. "Mycroft Holmes." He began to the woman behind the counter, glad that his voice at least sounded collected, "I'm looking for Dr. Brandon."

Before the receptionist could do more that open her mouth, a voice to his left called out "Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft looked over to find a woman walking toward him. She had tan skin, light brown hair that fell to her shoulders, and bright green eyes. And, most importantly, she was wearing a white doctor's coat.

(Two kids, twins, young, on second marriage, a writer in her spare time, just had lunch-

For once in his life, Mycroft Holmes told his mind to shut up.

The woman held out her hand, "Hello, I'm Dr. Brandon. You're looking for Mr. Lestrade, yes?"

He shook her hand firmly, "Yes, I'm his boss. Come to check on him. He never showed for work." He took it as a good sign that she hasn't started her introduction with "I'm afraid I have some bad news".

Dr. Brandon chuckled, "Ending up in a hospital is a good excuse, I'll wager!" Mycroft forced a smile, which relaxed when she said, "Would you like me to take you to him?"

"That would be kind of you." 

The doctor smiled at him before turning and leading them toward the nearest set of stairs. The pair traveled up three flights before stepping out into a long white hallway. Four doors down on the right wall of said hallway, just across from a nurse’s station, Dr. Brandon stopped and opened the door for Mycroft.

On the way up, Dr. Brandon had filled Mycroft in on what had happened to his employee. Because of this, Mycroft was not so shocked at the scene before him.

Still, his stomach dropped when he laid eyes on Lestrade, a cold chill washing over him. The machine beeped rhythmically next to Greg's body, his chest raising and falling with it. The white of the hospital bed made the darker parts of his graying hair stand out more. It made Mycroft want to touch it.

So, since he had told his mind to shove off not so long ago, he did. Mycroft approached Greg's bed and gently caressed the injured man's hair with the back of his hand. Greg wore a frown in his sleep but as Mycroft's hand continued down the side of his face, Greg turned his head and nuzzled against that hand with a sigh. Mycroft immediately retracted his hand as if bitten, sure Greg was about to wake up and catch him in the awkward situation. But the café worker slept on, oblivious to his visitor.

Or visitors, as Mycroft was quickly reminded.

"He shouldn't wake up until late tonight or early tomorrow." Dr. Brandon explained from her position by the doorway.

Mycroft had honestly forgotten about the doctor and felt his face heat up slightly. Clearing his throat, Mycroft moved away from the bed. 

"I'm glad to see you have the situation well in hand, Doctor." He said, pleased to hear authority back in his voice, "Notify me if there is any change in his condition."

The brunet smiled warmly, "I'll keep an eye on him," She promised. "But the worst of it has passed. He should be able to leave by late afternoon tomorrow, if all goes well."

Mycroft nodded and took a step towards the door to go. But he couldn't resist looking back as he did so.

Greg didn't belong in this setting; that thought jump out to Mycroft immediately. Everything was sterile and plain. The ex-DI would surely hate having to be here for any length of time.

A thought occurred to him as he observed the man on the hospital bed. Mycroft turned back to Dr. Brandon, "I have a favor to ask of you."  
\--

The sound of a door shutting woke Cafe Worker Lestrade the next morning. He was understandably disoriented; he did not remember ever seeing this pearly white room before. After a few seconds of confused blinking in which he did not move otherwise, logic returned to him and he reasoned he was in a hospital room.

Greg carefully sat up, assessing the damage done to bring him here. His wrist was bandaged, his nose felt sore, and he was sure he felt a brace around his knee under the covers. Not the worst the ex-yarder had ever had but the wounds still hurt.

As his eyes trailed around the room, he noticed a tray next to his bed. He stared at it, his mind reeling as it took in the tray's contents and what it could mean.

His musings were interrupted by the door opening again. Greg turned to see a woman wearing a white doctor's coat. She had brown hair that was up in a ponytail and tired green eyes.

"Seen that look before," Greg said good naturedly, his voice hoarse from sleep, "Been up all night, have you?"

The doctor chuckled as she closed the door behind her, "I did go home but my youngest doesn't go down easily. Good to see you're awake and aware, Mr. Lestrade." She held out her hand and Greg shook it. "My name is Dr. Brandon. I suspect you have a few questions."

"Yeah," Greg confirmed, "One of which-" he pointed to the tray beside his bed, "-what can you tell me about my breakfast?"

Dr. Brandon followed his eyes to the tray and gave him a warm smile, "Well I can say it's not our usual breakfast menu..."  
\--

When Mycroft opened the café the next day, he was prepared for Greg's absence. After returning to the café yesterday, Mycroft had explained the situation to the workers; Lestrade was in the hospital, he was fine, and he would be back within a few days. He could see the relief in their eyes when they heard this and finally believed what Athena had said about everyone being worried.

Following that announcement, Mycroft spent the rest of the work day in his office. When it was time to close, he came out to see Athena still there, wiping tables and putting up chairs. It looked, Mycroft could think of no better word, odd.

Now Mycroft flipped the sign to Open and turned to face his employees. Only Athena watched him with a look of mild concern. Good, his worry yesterday had not been completely obvious after all.

Everything Athena had told him yesterday before the lunch rush had proven true, it seemed. But one thing had been nagging at Mycroft since last night when he had switched his mind back on and replayed their conversation:

"You've taken an interest in Lestrade. Call it whatever you like; friendship, a crush, I don’t care."

Why did Greg affect him so? He often found himself eagerly awaiting the next work day to see the man. The time they had by themselves before closing every night was highly enjoyable. Certain simple expressions Greg made or things he said could make Mycroft smile or concerned. All Greg had to do was not show up for work one day and Mycroft could barely concentrate on anything apart from his absence.

Was it merely friendship? Apart from a few coworkers, Mycroft did not have many friends, and even then he only really trusted Athena.

Or could it be something else? Having a 'crush' at his age seemed so juvenile that Mycroft could not help but roll his eyes at Athena's word choice every time her statement ran through his head. But what if it was attraction? How would he know?

A knock on his office door abruptly pried Mycroft from his mind. For a heart (stop that, go back, stay away) stopping moment, he fully expect Gregory to come in.

But then the door opened and Athena stuck her head in.

"Lunch rush soon, Sir." She informed him.

The manager checked the clock on his desk and was surprised to find she was correct.

"So it is," he replied, "I'll be out momentarily." She nodded and left.

As he prepared himself for service, his mind trailed back to his last question. Whom his mind had jumped to without the slightest hint of their presence seemed telling, reluctant as Mycroft was to admit it.

Lunch went by as a nice distraction for Mycroft. The conclusion he has drawn before leaving his office had spooked him and the busyness of the lunch rush allowed him to ignore the revelation for a few hours.

But after the rush, and until closing, Mycroft's head was a jumble; mental notes from the past month he hadn't realized he made, certain feelings that had not surfaced in years, mental photos of smiles he hadn't meant to record.

When closing time finally came, Mycroft's paperwork wasn't finished, but he told Athena to go home despite this; he would close the café himself. Partly because he needed to get his thoughts in order but another reason was that it felt weird to close up with Athena.

Mycroft was sweeping the floors not long after Athena reluctantly left, his head a thousand miles away from the spot he was over cleaning, when the café door flew open. It did so so violently the little bell above it flew across the café, skid along the counter, and hit the coffee maker, causing the appliance to make high pitch beeping noises.

Gregory Lestrade stood with one foot in the doorway, staring at the coffee machine as it continued to beep loudly. 

"Told you that thing hates me." Greg finally said.

Mycroft turned back to him, having watched the bell's progress through the room. The man's injuries were still wrapped and he was panting slightly.

Mycroft found that his mouth was too dry for speech. Here was Greg, the object of his thoughts for the past two days, clearly just come from the hospital. The employee had obvious meant to find Mycroft here; no one besides the two of them were usually here at this hour, and what was this feeling? Surely he was happy to see Greg, but why would he feel satisfaction? Was it significant that Greg had sought him out with such urgency? It must be.

Mycroft swallowed and licked his lips. "What are you doing here?" He couldn’t help but ask.

Greg's eyes snapped to his, "You made me breakfast, didn't you?"

"What?"

"I had coffee with only cream, a strawberry frosted donut with sprinkles, and a chocolate croissant waiting for me when I woke up this morning. You put it there." Greg said this as he crossed the room to stand before Mycroft.

Mycroft held his breath as the other man closed in. He returned the gaze as steadily as he could and responded, “It is Wednesday.”

"Right," Greg rubbed a hand down his face then scratched the back of his neck, "Right." He took a deep breath and looked his boss straight in the eye. "I want to do something. It's really stupid and I've wanted to do it for a long time now. Just- if you don't like it, don't sack me, alright?"

Mycroft would have to be a complete imbecile to not know what Greg planned to do. He kept his face neutral but inside, calculations and considerations were racing through his head; what would the café workers think? How had Mycroft let it come to this? Exactly how long was 'a long time'? Why Lestrade? Why now?

All this happened in the space of a second. Now Greg was inches from his face, not breaking eye contact with his silent boss. Mycroft could feel the man's breath on his nose, smell the coffee he had provided, and felt a shiver skate down his spine. His mind was still racing, deductions based on this new closeness mixing in and it hurt. It hurt to have everything going through him at once and Mycroft tighten his grip on the broom in his hands as his emotions beat in his chest. Emotions Mycroft thought he had locked away until a certain ex- Detective Inspector asked for a job.

After another second, Greg hesitated a hair's width from the cafe manager's lips.

For the second time in two days, Mycroft Holmes told his mind to sod off.

Mycroft put a hand to the back of Greg's neck and pulled the man forward. Their lips crashed together and it didn't take long for both men to let their eyes drift shut. There was a clatter as Mycroft dropped his broom to place his other hand on Greg's shoulder while the other man gently put one hand on Mycroft’s hip and set the other to caress his boss’s cheek with his thumb. The kiss was soft, almost restrained, as their lips moved, and Mycroft would admit later it was a bit clumsy on his part.

The pair pulled away relatively quickly, though they did not part. They stared at each other and Mycroft scoured his shut off mind for something to say but nothing sounded intelligent enough. Instead, Greg broke the silence.

“So, am I fired?”

He looked genuinely nervous, and that amused Mycroft. In answer, the café manager pressed his lips to his employee’s once again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have trouble viewing this, or just want to see a less-edited version of the same story; it is available on ff.net under the same title, user name zutarakid50.


End file.
